


Focal Point

by leonhart_17



Series: i found love where it wasn't supposed to be, right in front of me [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:24:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonhart_17/pseuds/leonhart_17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root had been manic more than once in her life but the hunt for Shaw had narrowed her focus, had calmed her in a way wholly unlike anything else had managed to do in her entire history.  The Machine, she had settled Root, given her a purpose for her life.  Shaw was her reason for everything else.</p><p>Getting her back was – all she wanted.  Not always a priority for the Machine or the doubting team over the last nine months, but it was what she desired more than anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Focal Point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zenparadox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenparadox/gifts).



> I'll use you as a focal point so I don't lose sight of what I want. - "I Found" - Amber Run - where the title came from because it's their song.
> 
> this one is for my friend zen, who wanted Shaw getting rescued fic. I just finished it tonight and can't make myself wait to post it because i'm an impatient ass, so excuse any mistakes.

Root had been manic more than once in her life but the hunt for Shaw had narrowed her focus, had _calmed_ her in a way wholly unlike anything else had managed to do in her entire history. The Machine, she had settled Root, given her a purpose for her life. Shaw was her reason for everything else.

Getting her back was – all she wanted. Not always a priority for the Machine or the doubting team over the last nine months, but it was what she desired more than anything else.

So when they finally tracked down a lead, when the months of searching yielded to her will, her focus narrowed to a laser, her drive powerful and directed – a train on a track with only one destination. She would get Shaw back no matter what it cost her.

John Reese was next to her in the car, in Shaw's seat behind the wheel, had slid into the vehicle without a word. He'd seen the look on her face when she'd deciphered the last bit of information on her monitors, had followed her without questioning. He knew the stakes, the cost she was willing to pay.

Harold was in their ears, directing them from the safety of the subway, Lionel handling a number on his own. With Zoe Morgan consulting.

The building they arrived at was tall, dark and apparently vacant for all that it wasn't exactly isolated. The rest of the block was deserted, however. Even the streetlights were out as they popped their doors opened and climbed out of the car. John already had his gun in hand as he rounded the hood, another strapped to his back, extra ammo for both in a bag on one shoulder.

“Is this the Machine?” he asked, voice low. His eyes surveyed the dark windows above them. Any of them could be hiding Samaritan. They were exposed.

“No,” answered Root, speaking just as softly. The Machine's inability to get inside this building had been part of what had alerted them to Samaritan’s presence. She had a gun in each hand, another in her belt along with more clips.

“We need to get inside.”

John moved forward toward the door, long strides soundless. It was too quiet, no cars on the street, no people anywhere he could see. It felt too easy. He was still two yards from the door when a shot rang out inside the facility. He lunged sideways, arm behind him pulling Root clear of the doors.

On the other side of the glass someone moved, barely visible in the dim emergency lighting. Leaning up over Reese's shoulder Root saw the gun first. In her periphery she could see Reese lift his own gun. Without thinking her arm moved to push his muzzle down. “Wait.”

Her voice was hoarse, her chest tight. She couldn't see more than an awkward, limping shuffle, but she  _knew_ it. Shaw. Rising to her full height, Root moved around Reese, still crouched and guarded, and walked forward toward the doors.

Sameen pushed them open from inside as Root reached them, her hand trembling on the grip of the gun. The strap of her white undershirt was torn, red with blood at her shoulder where a bullet had passed through. A ripped wire still dangled from an electrode stuck inside her elbow. She was barefooted beneath the blue scrub pants she was wearing. Barely able to hold the door open, Shaw couldn't muster the strength to lift her gun when she recognized Root's proximity, too on edge to realize her identity immediately. She blinked, brown eyes narrowed and then wide in the dark.

“Took you guys long enough,” she said, growling and rough. Her smirking smile was bloody. “Thought I was going to have to do this whole thing on my own.” Eyes rolling back in her head, Shaw passed out.

Jumping forward, Root caught her as best she could, falling to her knees with both arms holding Shaw's body to her. “Sameen, don't you dare die on me like this!” She was speaking too loudly, her voice high and tight with anxious fear. “Shaw!”

“Is she breathing?” John asked even as he moved to cover them both, gun up and trained into the darkness of the Samaritan facility. “Does she have a heartbeat?”

Sweaty fingers slipped on blood but Root found a slow beat under Shaw's jaw. “Yes,” she answered.

“Get your guns,” instructed Reese, as steady sounding as he ever was. “I'll take Shaw and you cover us.” Root started instinctively to argue – she had Shaw back, literally _in_ her arms, and she'd be damned before she'd let her go again – but John's hand found her shoulder, his eyes dark and intense in the shadows. “We need to get her out of here. I can lift her. You can't.”

At that moment Root felt certain she could find a way to get Sameen over her shoulder and into the car, felt sure she could carry her all the way back to the station if it would keep Shaw alive and safe and with her. Her more rational mind prevailed, reasoning that Reese was the way – on hand and perfectly capable – so she nodded assent to the plan. It took her a long second to release her hands from their grip on Shaw's arm, her thigh. Another second to find the guns she'd dropped without a thought in her rush to catch Shaw.

Shaw didn't react when Reese pulled her limp body over his shoulder, hanging boneless across his back. It looked too much like he was carrying a corpse. Root's lungs felt thick, her chest hollow, ribs thin and brittle. Like her next breath might break her wide open, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to the world. Her hands itched for some movement in pursuit, someone to shoot.

They moved away from the building as a group, John holding Shaw in place with one hand while he got the back door open. Root kept her eyes trained on the building, ready to put a bullet through the first thing that moved. “We've got her, Harry,” she whispered, hearing the door shut behind her.

“Let's move,” John called, sliding into his seat. He'd left Root's door open for her.

As soon as the car was moving she dropped her guns in the floorboard, twisting in her seat to see Shaw. It wasn't enough, not after months of chasing ghosts, of feeling like one herself. There was no way to maneuver in their compact sedan and she didn't help herself, squirming between the seats shoulders first. Root ended up sprawled in the floorboard beside Shaw, long legs hooked over the bump of the transmission column in the middle. She could reach Shaw, could push her hair back, able to see her chest rise and fall with slow breaths. Her skin was warm, feverish, but Shaw wasn't sweating. She was, however, bleeding from more than one scrape, cut, and bullet hole. They'd cut her hair, raggedly sheared the ends in some places, shaved to her scalp in others.

Seeing the damage, the intimate, invasive pain they'd inflicted on Shaw, to find _her_ , it made Root feel sick to her stomach.

“ _Miss Groves, is she-?”_

“She's unconscious but alive.” The emotion was choking her voice, burning her eyes, her throat, her chest. Her fingers combed through greasy dark hair, needing to touch her, to reassure herself again that this wasn't every dream she'd had in the last nine months.

“ _Can you bring her here? Or do you require immediate medical assistance?”_

“She was on her feet when we got there,” John noted from his seat in the front. Sparing Root from having to speak past the lump seizing her voice. “She's got bumps and bruises and who knows what they've done to her, but she's not dying tonight. We'll make it home.”

“ _I'll have someone here waiting,”_ Harold promised over the line. _“Mr. Reese, when you say she was on her feet -”_

“Fighting her way out -” he clarified. “We didn't stick around to make sure but she might have taken the whole complex out before we even breached the door.”

Fusco chimed in at that but Root tuned them out, the Machine helpfully lowering the volume to her implant. Right now, she wanted to get an hour's peace, rest. Her head fell back against the door panel but she couldn't close her eyes, content to simply watch Shaw's chest rise and fall, to touch her hair and feel her life under her own hands.

It took hours to get back to the city, the rising sun sending thick shafts of light between the skyscrapers. With very little space to shift, Root had still managed to get closer to Shaw, her head sideways on the seat cushion. They were almost home. They could get an idea what had happened to Sameen. Her fingers brushed the swollen line of a fresh scar under shaved hair on the back of Shaw's head.

“Reese.” The turn signal clicked rhythmically as they waited at a light. He made a small noise of acknowledgment of her first words since they'd crossed the state line. “We can't take her to the subway. We don't know if they're tracking her. Harold -”

“We'll meet somewhere neutral,” John recommended. “Can the Machine find us somewhere?”

“Take the next left,” said Root, relaying the directions being whispered in her ear.

They arrived at their destination only a minute before another car whipped into the underground parking garage. John had them covered from behind his car door until a rather panicked looking young man in scrubs tumbled out of the other vehicle with his hands up. From the back seat Harold called out, anxious to keep violence from ensuing. “He's here for Ms. Shaw, Mr. Reese!”

Keeping his gun up, Reese moved to open the door concealing Root and Shaw. “Help her,” he instructed gruffly, gesturing with his gun.

“Can we get her out of the car? I need to be able to see what's been done,” asked the doctor, more confident once the reason for his being there had been revealed.

John hesitated but holstered his gun, making eye contact with Root. “I'll take her shoulders, you get her feet.”

The doctor moved in swiftly as soon as they set his patient down, John moving back to speak to Harold. Root wouldn't move from where she knelt beside Shaw, both hands on her own legs. “Has she woken up at all?”

At the vehicles John leaned against Harold's car while he limped and paced. “You do realize that we didn't bring her to the subway to keep Samaritan from tracking  _you_ ,” he noted. “You should go.”

Harold didn’t miss a step, keeping his slow, irregular pace. “We're far enough underground that the likelihood of any signal being able to penetrate this far is unlikely in the extreme.” He rested on his cane, looking at Reese directly. “I don't want – if we've got her back -”

“I understand, Harold,” John assured him, reaching forward to pat his shoulder gently. “She's one of ours.”

A scream tore through the air without warning, the sound of it making Harold jump. Shaw was thrashing and kicking, throwing a punch that caught the unprepared doctor across the jaw. Root was quicker, slinging herself bodily over the bucking woman and locking Shaw's legs to the sheet with her own. It took her a second longer to catch her wrists, pin them down.

“Shaw! Sameen! It's alright!” she yelled, trying to reach her through the haze of drugs and violence. “You're okay, sweetie,” she tried, gentling her tone. 

Unseeing eyes were wide, jaw clenched and teeth gnashed. “I'll kill you!” Shaw bucked against the hold, head straining up to reach Root when nothing else was able to escape the resistance.

Root could feel the woman beneath her trembling. “Sameen, it's me. It's Root. You're okay, sweetie. We got you back,” she breathed out. “You're safe.” The tremors slowed gradually, Shaw breathing hard. When she thought it wouldn't get her headbutted, Root leaned forward to rest her head against Shaw's. The agent's breathing caught pace with her own, slowing and evening out. “That's my girl,” Root murmured, pressing forward to get Shaw back down flat on the sheet. “It's okay. I'm here.”

“Root.” Shaw was watching her when she lifted her head, eyes catching and locking. Root felt her heart seize in her chest. “You're not safe.” Her eyeline shifted over Root's shoulder to Harold and Reese standing over them and watching. “You need to run,” she said, raising her voice to be heard. “Get away from me. It's not safe, Finch.” Agitated, she was only then aware of her restraint, Root straddling her abdomen and holding her hands behind her head. “Give me one hand,” she requested brusquely, not objecting to the hold otherwise.

Root complied, letting Shaw's left hand slip from her grip. She shifted her weight to her knees when Shaw grazed clumsy fingers across the back of her own head, leaning around to see when Shaw hissed. “There's something there.”

The muscles of Shaw's jaw were tight under her skin. “Get it out.” Her eyes found Root's again. “Cut it out of me,” she repeated, face set, denying argument.

“We don't know what -” Root tried anyway.

“They put it there. That's all we need to know. Now grab a knife and get to cutting or I will.” Her hand shot toward the doctor's supply bag when Root hesitated but the hacker was quicker even as Reese kicked the bag beyond either of their reach.

Dark eyes locked in a silent battle of wills for an extended moment. It broke when Root sighted, able to feel the resistance building in Shaw's body, gathering strength to throw her off. “Can we give her some anesthesia?” she requested from the harried doctor.

Without warning Shaw fought back, nearly pitching Root off. “No! I'm not going away, not again -”

Root managed to stay mostly in place but lost her grip on Shaw's wrists, barely getting a hand up to deflect the stiff-fingered jab aimed at her throat. Strong legs pushed up, unseating her neatly. Breathless, Root found herself blinking up at furious brown eyes. “Sameen, stop! We won't put you under,” she promised quickly. One hand found the side of Shaw's shirt, rubbing softly at the dried blood stiffness of the fabric, trying to soothe her. “Okay? I swear we won't. But we can't just cut you, sweetie.”

“Do you have a local in here?” asked Reese behind them.

Shaw blinked, her arms starting to tremble with the effort of holding herself up. She dipped ever so slightly, allowing Root's palm to connect fully with a space just below her ribs. Neither one was certain if it was deliberate or incidental. Nor did they care.

Hair was hanging in Shaw's face and Root's fingers itched to push it back but she didn't move. Shaw like this was a wild dog. One wrong move and she'd regret it. An expression Root couldn't quite place pulled at her mouth before Sameen flopped on her stomach on the sheet covered concrete beside her with a huff and a quiet grunt of pain.

“Let's get this done,” she growled, reaching back to pull her hair out of the way.

Root looked up to see Reese and Finch watching with nearly matching frowns. Sighing, she moved up to sit by Shaw's head. When she reached to help hold Shaw's hair she was surprised by the hand that landed on her bent knee. Kneeling on Shaw's other side, the doctor waited for Root's nod before sliding the needle into the prone agent's scalp.

Shaw was as still as a statue the entire time he worked, exhaling audibly when he announced the end of his procedure. “What is it?”

“Sweetie -”

“What the hell is it, Root?” she interrupted gruffly. “Is it safe?”

“It's safe,” Root promised without a second glance at the tiny chip in her hand. Two fingers snapped it in half. “We shouldn't stay here for too long though.” The doctor was holding a pad of gauze to the newest cut Shaw was sporting. “Can she be moved?”

“I'm fine -” grumbled Sameen in objection over whatever answer the doctor gave.

“You collapsed in my arms, Shaw,” Root denied her. “You need to get -”

“She actually needs x-rays, a CT scan to rule out internal injury,” the doctor interjected quietly. “But the majority of the cuts and abrasions are fresh.” He smirked, glancing around the group. “I'm guessing from whatever went on tonight. That I absolutely don't need to know about. So as long as they're kept clean and covered she's not at risk. But everything older appears to have been treated reasonably well.”

“I'm trained as a medic,” Shaw grunted, levering her arms underneath herself to lift her upper body up onto her elbows. “I'm telling you I’m okay.” She said it directly to Root, as though there was no one else in the room that she needed to convince.

“I will get an x-ray, and a CT machine -” Root started, serious and earnest.

Sitting up with her legs crossed beneath her, Saw grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Her shoulders were hunched, her body curling over itself but she was alive and whole. “You can do whatever you want to me once I get a steak,” she promised.

Relieved, Root grinned. “You can count on that, Sameen,” she answered in a low tone. Shaw lifted her head, a smirk teasing the tired lines at the corners of her mouth. “Harry, what's the best steak in the city?” she asked, voice high and sweet.

“Can you get them to deliver to whatever safe house is closest?” Shaw chimed in to ask. She'd taken over holding the gauze to her head and grimaced at the fresh pad the doctor offered her. “I could use a shower and a change of clothes too if we can swing it.”

“That can be arranged, Ms. Shaw,” said Harold warmly. “You don't know how much it would please me to do so.”

Shaw looked up at him to nod. “Thank you, Finch.” To Reese she extended a hand. “Let's get out of here.”

He pulled her to her feet gingerly enough, Root scrambling up as well with her hands ready to catch Shaw if it proved necessary. Reese nodded when Shaw was steady on her feet. “Anything else we can get you?”

She smirked. “Not going to say no to one of Harry's better scotches.”

“Hey!” protested their handler even as John grinned and promised, “Count on it.”

Surrendering, Harold uttered a long-suffering sigh. “Ms. Groves, I assume you can be counted on to make sure Sameen doesn't overindulge on red meat and my liquor?”

Root took the opportunity to slip her arm through Shaw's elbow. “Of course.” She tended to not bother much about personal space with most people. She'd get as close as she needed to get what she wanted. Shaw was different. In every way that was possible, Shaw was different to her. So when Shaw didn't sigh and push her away, didn't bump her with an elbow to clear space between then, but instead leaned against her to let Root take some of her weight, Root was the one whose breath caught.

“Great,” said Shaw before Root could say anything more. “Now that my babysitting is arranged can we go?”

John naturally fell into step with Harold, walking between him and the entrance to their underground refuge. Two paces behind them, Shaw stayed on Root's bad side. Despite her bravado, the hacker was supporting more of her weight now that Reese and Finch weren't watching, Shaw leaning heavily against Root's arm, barely keeping pace with Harold's stuttering steps.

They split at the cars, John and Harold taking their doctor back to wherever they'd found him, while Root got Shaw back into the car they'd arrived in. The drive was brief, quiet, Sameen slumped against the door. Her skin was too pale, a sheen of sweat barely visible  in the early morning sunlight between the buildings . From the corner of her eye Root was fairly sure she could detect the slightest tremor, a tremble rocking Shaw's wracked frame with increasing frequency.

“You have a fever,” noted Root, taking an opportunity to look directly at her when they stopped at a light.

“I'm fine.” Shaw's teeth chattered when she unclenched her jaw. “It'll pass.”

Root's mouth felt dry, her tongue sticking to her teeth and making her fumble her words. “What did they do to you?”

The light changed and the impatient driver behind them honked, holding their horn down until Root released her own brake pedal and their car started to move. It was enough of a distraction to get Shaw out of answering.  Frustrated by being interrupted, and holding the wheel with one hand, Root aimed one of her guns out the back windshield, fist braced on her own shoulder. Shaw reached across the vehicle with an unsteady hand to pull her arm down. Root didn't resist, only glanced sidelong at the smile quirking her lips. Shaw didn't withdraw her hand from Root's wrist, leaving both resting on the center console between them. Root's fingers flexed and twitched but her arm didn't move until she had to shift the car back into park.

Finch's safe house had all of the subtle luxury of any place he owned, couching layers of security in plush cushions and rich fabrics. He hadn't expected it to be used like this so the fridge wasn't stocked nor the medicine chest up to what they would undoubtedly need to tend to Shaw's wounds.

She had limped straight past the couch to the bathroom as soon as they entered, ignoring for the moment the single bedroom, and leaving Root scrambling to catch up. "Sweetie, what -?" Shaw ignored her, focused on disheveling the drawers and cabinets in the bathroom in search of her goal. "What are you looking for? What do you need?"

Finding it, Shaw flicked the switch on the electric razor to make sure it worked. "Figured Finch was more of a straight razor kind of guy, but -"

"Why do you need a razor, Sameen?" asked Root, her voice tight.

Holding herself steady with one hand against the counter, Shaw still managed to send a withering look over her bloody shoulder. "You're going to help me." Weary, she sank to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. Her head dropped to hang between her hunched shoulders. "Fix it," she said quietly. "Change it." She held out the razor in one clenched fist.

Catching on, Root's face pulled in unseen sympathy. Her chest ached. "Sameen, you should get some rest.. " She had to lunge forward and wrestle the clippers away when Shaw raised her arm to begin herself. "Okay, alright, just wait, okay? Let me see if Harold has any scissors." Her lips pursed, drawn tight over her teeth. Trying for dispassionate distance, she surveyed the task being asked of her. "Let's go into the kitchen. Better light."

Shaw lifted her face to give her a tired smirk. "Don't make me look bad," she teased, letting Root slip an arm around her as she got to her feet again.

"As if I could," murmured Root softly.

A tall stool at the breakfast counter put Shaw's unevenly cropped hair at Root's eye line while a junk drawer provided scissors that weren't quite as sharp as would be ideal but would do the job well enough. Shaw was hunched in the seat but leaned into Root's hand combing through her hair. "Just do it," she grunted when she saw the plea building in the other woman's face.

"Sit still then."

Root worked meticulously, measuring each lock of hair carefully before she made any cuts, and working her way around. Her scalp had been shaved in several large patches, leaving the repair job still looking as though Shaw had survived something awful. Which she had. Her desire to change that without delay suddenly made perfect sense.

"Lean forward." Gentle hands on her neck helped find a good position.

"Your fingers are always cold," noted Shaw from beneath the curtain of her hanging hair.

Root didn't say anything, thumbing the switch on the clippers. It was cathartic, watching the small strands fall away. When she lifted her head again Sameen Shaw would be a new person. In a small way. As if she hadn't already been transformed by what Samaritan had put her through. Transformed but not broken. And this was a change she had chosen. Root could only hope that it would help her, to see someone new when she next looked in the mirror.

She had to shave higher than she thought she would to eradicate the evidence of the things that had been done to Shaw, but it would look good when it was finished. In her humble opinion, anyway. Fingers prodded Shaw's head to the left and then the right when she needed to. Sameen had her eyes closed, her face relaxed. Root let the fingers of her free hand graze over the hair she'd already buzzed short. The resulting twitch of Shaw's mouth made a slow warmth slide down her spine to settle near her stomach.

Shaw kept her head down when Root finished with the clippers and moved off to wet a towel in the sink. It was warm, soothing – stray hair, blood, and dirt washed away in equal measure. "You done?" she asked once Root had stopped moving.

"I suppose there's not much more to do." Shaw straightened up, stretching her legs out in front of her. Both hands raked through what was left of her hair. "You need a shower."

"The torture smell not doing anything for you?" asked Shaw, rolling her eyes. It became a grimace when she caught a whiff of herself.

Root shrugged, arms crossed and hip cocked as she studied Sameen. "I prefer you smelling like sex, personally." She grinned when the teasing remark won her a scoff.

"Think I'll take the shower first," grunted Shaw, leveraging herself off the stool onto unsteady legs. Each step was slow and short but grew steadier as she walked on her own to the bathroom.

Root had only just finished cleaning the kitchen when the apartment's buzzer sounded. The water was still running in the shower so she answered it, checking the monitor for the door camera. Reese had a duffel over one shoulder, a white box tied with twine balanced on the other. Two fingers were hooked through the handles of a tall paper supermarket bag. Root buzzed him in and he nudged the door open with his foot. She was waiting by the time he reached their floor.

Hearing the shower, he asked, "How is she?"

Root held her breath for half a beat, finally shaking her head. "I'm hoping she will tell me." The warmth in her gut had dissipated, replaced by a hard knot. "Reese, I don't think it was physical, what they were doing to her. At least not recently." She swallowed, her eyes slipping toward the bathroom. Shaw had left the door open and steam billowed out through the crack like fog rolling in. "When I want to break a person the body gives you so many easy ways – finger, toes, jaws, cheekbones, arms and legs. Ears, even, if you're particularly sadistic.” Her smile was bitter and fell away without lingering. “They haven't broken her, not that way." Her throat closed briefly and she coughed. "There are cuts though, on the back of her head. Injection marks too.”

John frowned, arms crossing his chest. “What are you saying?” He was a smart man and could put it together. He'd seen the chip they'd taken out of Shaw's scalp not two hours before. He asked anyway. Maybe needed to hear the words.

“I'm saying they could have ruined her forever for what we do – taken away every skill she has and left her a shell of who she was.” Her voice was thick. “But they didn't.” Blinking, she looked up at him. “I think they wanted to use her themselves. Turn her. Chemicals and drugs instead of outright torture. Break her mind, not her body.”

More than passably familiar with such techniques himself, Reese only nodded. “You need to be very careful,” he said, lowering his voice when the shower cut off. “If she's Samaritan's weapon -”

Root raised hers, calling out to be heard in the bathroom, “Sweetie, John brought your clothes.”

Wet feet padded across pristine hardwood, a plush towel wrapped around Sameen's chest, her hair hanging in dripping tendrils over her shoulders. The fresh wound in the left shoulder was bleeding slowly, a thin red trail joining the other drops running over her skin. “Hey,” she greeted him, nodding with her chin. “Thanks.” She pulled the twine on the box first, retaking her seat on the stool.

Root passed her a fork and knife before Sameen could pick up her still steaming steak from its insulated box with her hands and tear into it with her teeth. Busy eating meat as quickly as she could, Shaw didn't protest Root taping a new gauze pad in place on her chest. The cut on her scalp had clotted, simply matting a small patch of her new undercut. Shaw's shoulder jerked to push her away when Root brushed her hair back to get a better look. “Okay, I'm done,” said the hacker quickly, moving back.

Taking it upon himself, John lifted the grocery bag to the counter and started pulling out smaller items. Finch's bottle of scotch was first, Shaw gesturing for it greedily. Root intercepted, pouring two fingers in a glass instead of letting the other woman drink straight from the bottle. Then there were small foodstuffs from the market around the block – sliced meat and cheese from a deli, eggs, bread, and half gallon of milk. “Just to get you started,” John explained, shrugging wide shoulders. The other bag, filled with black clothing, he left alone to be sorted through by their owner.

“Thank you for bringing it over,” said Root, tucking the few groceries away.

He nodded, opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a trill from his earpiece. “Sure. Got to go check in with Lionel. Anything else you need, just call.” He left without saying anything else, not lingering.

After the door shut behind him the apartment fell almost utterly silent. Shaw had finished devouring her steak and dropped her towel to pull on the first clothes she could grab out of the bag – tank top and boxer shorts, both black and clinging to her. Climbing back into her seat, she rolled the liquor around the bottom of her glass without drinking it. Root was on the other side of the breakfast island, not even pretending that she wasn't watching Shaw.

Sameen ignored it, holding up her cup to watch the liquid make gentle waves in the crystal. Taking a sip, she put it down in favor of combing her hair into a short tail and tying it back. Instead of avoiding Root's eyes she met her stare, neither one speaking.

Tension grew up in the silence until Root couldn't stand it. “What did they do to you?”

Swallowing her drink, Shaw reached out for the bottle, pouring another. She slid the glass across for Root to take for herself. “Drink that.”

“Don't – just tell me, Sam. Please. I need to know,” she pleaded, reaching for the glass without lifting it.

“You don't,” Shaw stated, flat and cold. “Let it go, Root.”

The hacker threw back the drink without flinching, refilling it again and shoving the glass almost roughly back across the counter to where Shaw was sitting. “I looked for you. For weeks without stopping.” Her voice broke and quivered. “I killed Martine. Snapped her neck because she took you from me – from us.”

Shaw was steady as she poured herself the next glass. “I know. You had them running scared for a good three months.” She smirked, lifting the drink in a salute. “Thanks for that.” She sipped slowly, not tossing it back the way Root had. Gathering her words, she turned the cup between her hands. “It messed them up. Knocked them off their schedule. They missed a few doses.”

“You called me,” whispered Root, reaching for the glass and taking the next sip. “I came for you.” Only the counter separated them. After months of searching and not finding Shaw had fallen back into her arms tonight. Now the only thing keeping them apart was three feet of distance and a slab of stone. Nothing of consequence except for hearing everything Shaw could tell her.

“Yeah, sorry. About the trap,” she clarified. “I had a shot, had to take it.” Her mouth pulled in a grimace. “Stupid to think they wouldn't use it against you.”

Root's head shook, curls falling across her cheek. “Don't apologize.” She would die for this woman and they both knew it, no matter that it meant different things to each of them. “It's over now.”

Cocking a brow, Shaw asked, “Is it?” She paused deliberately. “Where's your gun?” Root went stiff and didn't answer. “If I asked for it you wouldn't give it to me.” It wasn't a question because she knew the answer perfectly well. “You shouldn't. Because I don't know yet what got inside.” She sounded tired suddenly, shoulders rounded and hunched. “I tried to fight back, but I don't know yet what they've made me.”

“You're Sameen Shaw,” Root said with conviction. She rounded the counter in three quick steps, taking Shaw's face between her hands. “You're the strongest person I know. Whatever they did to you -”

“I don't know how to fight this, Root,” she cut her off, voice gravel and steel. “And I won't compromise this team.”

The hands on her face pressed against her neck, as if her touch could keep Shaw from escaping if she really meant to get away. “You _will_ _ **not**_ disappear on me again, Sameen.”

“I don't – I can't hurt you, Root.” Shaw looked up at her seriously. Her knees fell open and Root's thin hips slotted instinctively into the space. “What about Finch? If I ever -”

“We won't leave you alone with him,” she answered, too fast. Sighing, Shaw leaned back, trying to extricated herself. Root jerked her back with a hand on the back of her neck. It was the first time all night that Root had treated her with anything less than deferential tenderness. It felt good. “If you ever make a move to hurt him I'll put you down myself,” she promised. “Good enough?”

It wasn't but Shaw didn't protest.  Root hadn't given up on her by now. After nine months of fruitless searching. She never would. To all of their loss if something happened to Finch. But if Root couldn't pull the trigger on her she knew Reese would. “What about you? We're here alone, you know.”

Wide brown eyes blinked, lids and long lashes fluttering. “ I'm perfectly aware of that,” she breathed. Both hands gently angled Shaw's head up, leaning in slowly to meet her. Shaw withdrew again. “What?!” Root nearly barked. “What do you want me to say? Because I'm not scared of you, Shaw! I don't know if you want me to be but I'm just  _ not _ .” Worked up, she was breathing hard. “ I'll cuff you  if it'll help you sleep but I will be there right beside you either way, Sam!”

It burst out of her like a shot, making Shaw blink. Realization of what she'd said seemed to flicker across Root's expressive face feature by feature, eyes somehow going wider, nose flaring as she caught her breath, lower lip falling open. Shaw drank in every detail with a smirk growing across her mouth.  The flush crawling across her skin had nothing to do with the fever of withdrawal from the cocktail of Samaritan's drugs.

One hand snaked past Root's thin frame, finding the glass on the counter. Lifting it to her lips, Shaw drained it. When her hand shook she nearly smashed the glass putting it down again on the marble counter top. “I'm going to bed,” she declared quietly, grimacing at her shaky hand. Standing up, she flexed her fingers, watching the play of muscles beneath her skin.

Root staggered back against the counter without fighting her, both hands falling behind her to grip the stone edge until her knuckles were white. Her chest heaved with her deep, shaky breaths. Her whole body was trembling with the remnants of her emotional outburst.

The bedroom door was left open behind Shaw but Root didn't move to follow her. Not yet. If she went after her right now she'd likely do something completely foolish like tell Shaw exactly how much she loved her. How deeply, crazy, mad about her she was. Enough to let the rest of the world burn down if it would save her.

All of which were things she could absolutely _not_ say to Sameen Shaw the same night she'd finally found her again. They might be things she could _never_ say to her. So Root clung to the support behind her and listened to the shuffling noises of Shaw crawling into bed.

She padded into the bedroom when she felt calmer. Her jacket had been discarded over Shaw's stool, shoes abandoned at the breakfast bar. Another fifth was gone from Harold's bottle. She couldn't say any of the things that crawled through her chest, knotted around her lungs, and squeezed her heart between her ribs any more than she could stay away.

Shaw slept on her side, facing the door, with one hand under her pillow for the gun that wasn't there. She'd pulled the sheets on the other side of the bed back before she fell asleep, leaving a space for Root at her back.

Breathing deep and steady, Root took the space. She moved slowly, trying not to disturb Shaw's much needed rest. She didn't lie down though, just leaned against the bed's headboard and watched Shaw's breath rise and fall in her chest. Things weren't resolved, were nowhere near finished. There were tests to run, struggles to overcome. Nothing was settled, not really. Root was calm, though.

Some hair had escaped Shaw's tie, trailing across her cheek. Root used one finger to push it back. She simply couldn't help herself. Sameen was right _there_ and she had to touch her. Shaw's breathing caught, one eye fighting its way open. “D'you brings the cuffs?” Her words were slurred with sleep, barely discernible as actual words.

“We don't need them tonight,” Root answered. “Go back to sleep, sweetie.” Shaw caught the hand on her cheek with her own, guiding it down to her side and pinning it there with her own elbow. With no choice but to shift closer or lose feeling in her arm Root complied, settling into the cool sheets. Normally incapable of staying in any one place for more than a week, Root's last thought before sleep took her was that she could stay here, like this, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> also, the part about shaw shaving her head after getting rescued was inspired by some art on tumblr - http://hernameisroot.tumblr.com/post/137899083664/headcanon-samaritan-scientists-shaved-parts-of - and i had to write it.


End file.
